“Say, Bob, where did you get ’em?” continued Tom, somewhat in doubt of his own senses.
“Why, I bought ’em, of course. How does anybody get new clothes?”
“They are slick, though, ain’t they, Bob?” said young Flannery, admiringly, “and they fit stunnin’, too. You must er struck a snap somewhere, Bob.”
“I should think I did,” replied the latter; “the best snap any er the boys ever struck.”
“Bob, you was always lucky. I wish I was as lucky as what you are. I never strike no snaps, Bob.”
“Don’t you?” said young Hunter, meditatively.
“No, they don’t never come my way,” responded Tom, dolefully.
Bob turned the lapels of his coat back and threw out his chest ponderously.
“Tom,” said he, with the air of a Wall Street banker, “here’s a five for you,” taking a new, crisp bill from his vest pocket.